


Without Even Falling Off

by simplyprologue



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, Well... not exactly smut, this is the second time I've written something based on a TFLN, what does that say about me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively, Mac Gives Will a Sex Injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Even Falling Off

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Title is a line from "Pony" by Ginuwine, because it seemed funny and I needed a title that didn't take itself seriously at all. Prompt was [this](http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/Text-Replies-55868.html) Text From Last Night. Also, I'm still capable of light-hearted! See! 
> 
> (Also, obviously takes place very post-S2.)

MacKenzie’s on top of him, putting on a show, because she’s gotten hers three times tonight ( _good job,_ he thinks, or would think, if she hadn’t very effectively stripped him of his mental faculties) and has recovered her senses enough to get him flat on his back and take control.

Which is, of course, all the better for him, since Will is a firm believer that his wife is the most attractive woman he’s seen in real life and good God has he always loved to watch her do this. And Jesus does she look good right now, back arched, rosy-tipped tits bouncing with every thrust of her hips, hair impossibly mussed, lips red and swollen, neck and chest covered in fresh love bites.

It’s been a hell of a night—he got a Congressman to admit an impeachable offense on live television during cross examination, the DoD wants to talk to them again, other networks are clamoring to get the rights to replay the interview in syndication, ratings are through the fucking roof, and Mac basically attacked him the minute they were away from the staff, ripping his tie off him and pulling him into the bathroom in his office and closing the door by pushing him up against it.

Of course, the fact that he’s gotten his wife off three times so far (once in the bathroom, her ass perched on the sink, him three fingers deep in her, and twice in their bedroom after a very impatient ride home) is like icing on the goddamn—

Mac does something incredibly clever with her hips, twisting and pressing forward, muscles clenching down on him, and Will’s certain with some scientific accuracy that the lights he sees behind his eyelids are stars. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s pretty fucking close, and he thinks Mac sees that he can’t keep his eyes open anymore because the next thing he knows her breasts are pushing against his chest and her hands are in his hair and her mouth is covering the throbbing vein in his neck and he just _knows_ that hair and makeup is going to giggle at him tomorrow but god, he can’t bring himself to care because she’s hitting all the right spots, tight and wet and hot around and on top of him.

And then her voice is in his ear (God, isn’t it always?) raspy and sex-drugged, urging him to come. He does, minutes later, hips straining up off the mattress, eyes rolling back into his head, fingers digging into Mac’s hips like the possessive fucker he has the tendency to be with her.

He comes back to himself with Mac sprawled out mostly on top of him, combing her fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses intermittently along his jaw. They just touch for a while, calming overwrought nerves and sensitized skin.

“Wow,” he says eventually.

She giggles. “You were good tonight.” And he thinks she must realize how that sounds because she snorts and then clarifies with, “with the Congressman. And, well, after too. Both. You were really, really, good tonight Billy.”

Will turns his head, catching her lips in a kiss, languidly sliding his tongue along hers until she makes that satiated hum he likes to hear.

“You were pretty spectacular yourself.”

She bites her lip around a smile, propping herself up on an elbow.

She had been—the minute the Congressman’s lies began to unravel in a direction absolutely none of them had predicted, she was off and spinning in a thousand different directions, handling at least three conversation at any given time and sending the staff off on the chase, getting him the right information in seconds, giving him the right avenues of questioning to pursue. They missed a commercial break in its entirely, blew through three segments in the B block, wound up dropping the entire E block, and Reese Lansing was in the Control Room before the whole thing concluded, but by God it has been, quite possibly, the best night of their careers.

(Although security had to keep the Congressman and his staff from going after any of _their_ staff. But after that tense stand-off following the interview, the mood in the newsroom was that of a liberating army.)

She grins unabashedly at him, tracing absent shapes on his chest. “I thought you said I’m spectacular every night.”

Lazily, he reaches up to catch an errant lock of hair that’s fallen into her face and curls it around his finger. “That you are.”

“No but really,” she says, very serious about the whole thing. “I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do, and I remember the thing you did with the double-headed shower head on our honeymoon--”

He snorts, settling back into the pillows. “I could tell. Since, you, you know, basically attacked me like a cat in heat the second we were out of sight from most of the staff, _not that I’m complaining_ —”

“You’d better not be,” she says, laughing, before she stretches against him, nipping at his neck and letting the arm draped across his torso tighten around him. “Since you’re pretty much purring like a tomcat, you big lout.”

(Okay, so what if he is?)

But still, he smiles, a more than little amused. “I’m pretty sure the staff knew what we were doing in there for so long.”

“I would imagine. We _are_ married.” He still gets a kick out of that, even though it’s been a little over six months. “And hey, you did a victory lap before going back to your office, it’s not like I just dragged you back to the cave—”

He nuzzles the top of her head. “You’re mixing your metaphors.”  

She bites juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he flinches under her, making a deeply satisfied sound when she soothes the bite with her lips and tongue. At least _this one_ will probably be under his collar.

“The blood’s not all back to my brain yet,” Mac retorts gamely.

“You’re welcome.”

She rolls her eyes, rolling off of him and blowing damp hair off her forehead. “I’m going to go take a quick shower. You’re welcome to join me.”

To his credit, he does try.

—Before hissing in pain and falling back down onto the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut when a solid third of the endorphins coursing through his body quit _en masse._ Mac’s sitting up beside him in a second, a concerned expression plastered on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

Half of his back is open rebellion, and it takes him a moment to regain the power of speech.

“Honey?”

When he tentatively opens his eyes, she’s looming over him, biting her lip. His attempt to get up (again, which seems completely idiotic the second after he tries it) is mitigated by his lower back screaming out in pain and Will just falls back onto the mattress in a huff.

“I am going to get so much shit for this tomorrow,” he mutters.

“Will, what’s—”

He remembers maybe twenty minutes ago, straining his hips up into her as hard as he could as he came _hard_ , her thighs pressed in tight around his waist, holding him there as she rolled her hips again and again and, Will thinks, endorphins are very, very nice hormones for saving him the pain at first but _wow_ this is going to be a bitch tomorrow.

“I think you broke me,” he groans, laughing at himself.

“What? Oh my God, where?”

And then she’s up on her knees, helping him roll onto his front and prodding her back with her fingers which, to be fair, feels pretty good because this is hardly the first time she’s been there when he’s thrown out his back so MacKenzie at least knows what she’s doing.

“You know,” he says, turning his head so he doesn’t have a mouthful of pillow. “I’ve fucked up my back a ton of times, but I’ve never had someone _literally_ fuck up my back.”

To her credit, Mac has the decency to blush, throwing him a sheepish grin while sinking her fingers deep into knotted muscle. “Sorry.”

When she finally finds the problem spot (and he groans, loudly), she pauses. “Sorry,” she says, again, more like a murmur this time, before leaning down to kiss the back of his neck. “Back in a sec.”

Trying to find a better position that doesn’t cause the muscles in his back to spasm, he hears Mac running the faucet in the master bathroom and then rummaging through her vanity. When she finally reappears a few minutes later, her face is washed and she’s carrying a bottle of unscented lotion and his prescription naproxen.

“Take these, and for the love of God, old man, stay on your stomach.” Rolling his eyes, he complies.

“I’m not old.”

Mac ignores him, straddling his thighs and warming lotion in her hands before coating his back with it, sighing melodramatically. “I’m going to get in trouble for breaking the prized stallion.”

He snorts derisively, and then groans happily when her deceptively strong hands begin to ease into what will probably be a ruthless taking-to-task of most of the muscles on that side of his body. “The prized stallion?”

“Do you prefer company show pony?” she retorts matter-of-factly.

Fair point.

And honestly, Will thinks you’d have to be an idiot to complain about getting a naked massage from your wife, so he lets it happen. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
